There are mountains that move
Evelyne Leblanc-Roberge

Do you remember that time when all the volcanoes erupted? The eruptions were small but almost all the volcanoes were activated suddenly. It created this fine dust everywhere, on trees, on plants, houses and the sky was orange and pink for weeks. Everything had to shut down because of the dust. No travel. All airlines stopped their activities for almost the entire year. The dust was toxic and it was not recommended to go outside without wearing a mask and protective gear. Many people got sick. After almost a year of slow living, the eruptions quietly stopped and the dust finally settled. Rainfalls washed away the dust and we started to go outside again. The air quality was tested everyday and it improved during the winter. Soon enough we didn’t need the protective parabolic hat anymore to go outside, even though some people are still wearing it now as a preventive measure. That following spring, plants started to grow again, the toxic dust mutated into a powerful fertilizer and new species appeared. I remember the gardens that summer, so luscious, giving us many fruits, vegetables and flowers of all kinds. Many books and songs were written during that time when we couldn’t go outside. People communicated through their windows. Therapeutic dance movements still performed today were also discovered that year of the volcanoes.

I am compelled and fascinated by the ways in which attention (or lack thereof) leads to consequential (or subtle) shifts in perception at the level of the everyday. At the center of my artistic practice are images, usually taken with a camera, printed, projected, on screens, bounded in a book, sent by mail, wrapped around objects, or carefully placed in a room. My projects generally involve acts of close observation of the physical spaces I (and/or my collaborators) inhabit, whether it’s the details of a dusty waiting room green plant, the texture and wood grain of my desktop, the corner of sky to be seen from a small window, or the dance of paper and wind.

There are mountains that move is an ongoing in-progress assemblage of images, texts and strange gardens.

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